


Oh, What You Do to Me

by MissMorwen



Series: Memory Lane [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Memory Loss, Mutual Pining, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Past Brainwashing, Porn with Feelings, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), still not over the damn pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-10-18 17:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17585054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMorwen/pseuds/MissMorwen
Summary: Natasha stared at the arm in the drawer. It looked wrong, like a torn off limb. The general shape was the same with more elegant plates. She could almost see the fingers move if she didn’t look at them directly, but the color was different. The oxidized silver of vibranium with bands of gold as highlights. The star was gone, and she couldn’t decide whether or not that was a good thing.*************Bucky leaves Wakanda to go help Steve, Sam, and Nat post-cacw.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the lovely mbuzz.
> 
> Title from No One Knows by Queens of the Stone Age.

Life in the Red Room was hard. No one had promised Natalia it wouldn’t be when she had signed up, and she wouldn’t have believed them if they had. She had worked hard to get there and worked even harder to stay. She trained until her muscles burned and her knuckles bled. She practiced with weapons until every available one of them felt like extensions of her own hands instead of tools to be picked up. She studied until she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

She wasn’t rewarded for all her hard work - there were few rewards in the Red Room, only punishment for falling behind - but that was okay. She didn’t need validation, she needed to be the best so they gave her a new teacher instead. A man who could make her even better, who would, without their knowledge or approval, teach her more than they had intended.

 

“Love is for children,” her Soldier said, and Natalia would almost have believed him, if not for the way his smile had mirrored the rush of excitement she got from seeing him again. He brushed his fingers, still cold from the chill outside, over her cheek. His eyes were bright and sparkling as he looked down at her.

“Sure.” She grinned and caught his hand between hers. He might not be able to feel differences in temperature with his left hand, but she did. She cupped her hands around his and blew on it, attempting to warm it. “You should stop sneaking in through my window, then I might believe you.”

“Never.” He wrapped his free arm around her, enveloping her in the crisp scent of snow intermingled with warm leather.

“Well, then.” She tiptoed and kissed him, his lips chapped from the cold. “The mission went as planned?”

He didn’t answer at first, gazing down at her with an unreadable expression. “I almost got spotted just now. Coming here.”

She shrugged and leaned back against his arm to get a better look at his face. “Elena and Sergei have been going at it for months. Everyone is talking about it.”

“Natalia.” Her name passed his lips like a sigh. “This isn’t like Elena and Sergei. We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said but didn’t step away.

“No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “This is better.”

“If we’re caught, we’ll be punished.” Despite her effort, his hand was still cool against her skin when he cupped her jaw.

“Yeah, so, let’s make it worthwhile.” She had to stretch to wrap her arms around his neck, but it felt right, it felt good. His lips against hers and his hand on the small of her back felt like home.

 

 

She never once regretted that decision. Not when they were found out and punished. Or even when she faced the empty shell of the man she had loved. But she regretted pleading him to remember instead of protecting the nuclear engineer like she was supposed to, and afterward she kept the scar as a reminder.

 

 

“You’re being unusually quiet.” The headset made Sam’s voice sound like he was standing right behind her, whispering into her ear.

Natasha glanced over at his seat, assuring herself that he hadn’t managed to sneak up on her under the cover of the jet’s engine sounds and he raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Everything okay with the Bartons?”

She forced herself to relax her features and nodded. “As well as they can be with Clint under house arrest. I think Laura likes having him home all the time, even if he’s going a bit stir crazy.”

“Uh huh, can’t say I blame him. Must be hard to miss out on the exciting life of being an internationally wanted criminal.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re not enjoying your life as one of the merry men of Sherwood Forest?” Natasha winked at him.

“Is Steve Robin Hood in this scenario?” He looked a little skeptical.

“Of course not. I am. Steve’s Little John.”

“I can see that,” said Sam and nodded, eyeing the entrance to the cockpit where Steve was. “Who am I then? If you say Morgan Freeman, I’m taking you off my Christmas card list for being unimaginative.”

“You don’t have a Christmas card list and you’re clearly Maid Marian. Only one of us pretty enough for that role.”

“You’re missing the entrance into Wakanda,” Steve interrupted their laughter and they got up to join him by the cockpit, watching the forest give way to a city that looked like something from a sci-fi flick. Elegant skyscrapers of a design usually associated with much smaller buildings and circular train tracks weaving between them.

“This never gets old,” Sam breathed as something that looked more like a giant insect than a plane or helicopter or whatever it was flew past.

“I imagine it doesn’t.” Natasha did her best to take it all in, but they leveled out all too quickly, circling the landing platform once before Steve began to set the jet down.

“Oh, yeah. This is your first time here. Too bad we won’t have time for sightseeing.”

“Yeah, too bad,” she lied.

She hadn’t meant to put it off this long. At first, she had just wanted to give Barnes time to heal, come to terms with everything that had happened. But at some point, she’d had to admit to herself that maybe she was being a coward. Maybe she just didn’t want to face the man she had left behind when she had fled the Red Room.

T’Challa’s invitation had put an end to that. Doubly so as Shuri had finished the redesign of the new batons she had been working on since Natasha’s old ones nearly electrocuted a guard she had merely meant to stun. It was time to face up to her past.

 

Shuri whisked Natasha away while Steve was still talking with T’Challa and she didn’t hear why he had invited them here. She and Shuri had talked before, but never in person, and the pure kinetic energy the young woman possessed had clearly been dulled by the screens. Now that energy served as a pleasant distraction, both from the information she was missing out on and from the part of the welcoming committee that hadn’t turned up before she left.

It almost made her wish she had time for sightseeing.

The new batons were longer than her old ones. She spun them a few times to get a feel for them.

“Now squeeze the handles,” Shuri said with glee tinting her voice.

Natasha eyed her but did as she was instructed. Nothing happened.

“They won’t break. Squeeze harder.” Impatient and a little amused now.

She did and this time blue sparks ran along their length.

“Good. Bring the handles together.”

The handles locked together easily with a faint click. Natasha hefted the combined batons, twirled them a few times to get a feel for the new balance. “A staff. Why?”

“Greater reach. Obviously.” Shuri stretched her arms over her head, hands clasped like she was trying to limber up.

Natasha looked over at the other woman and the maybe two whole inches she had on her. “I have guns for that. And my stingers.”

“You old people and your old technology” She rolled her eyes, but amusement softened her scorn.

“Patience, young grasshopper,” she said only to be met with a confused frown.  Maybe she should keep her pop-culture references to the current century. At least around people who didn’t remember the last one. “Please tell me you didn’t try to hook Steve up with anything other than a shield.”

She scoffed. “Of course not. Wrong white boy,” she said and pulled out a drawer under the workstation. “I’m building the arm from scratch, might as well upgrade it. Why not add an EMP and maybe a sonic cannon in the underarm? Improve it a little.”

Natasha stared at the arm in the drawer. It looked wrong, like a torn off limb. The general shape was the same with more elegant plates. She could almost see the fingers move if she didn’t look at them directly, but the color was different. The oxidized silver of vibranium with bands of gold as highlights. The star was gone, and she couldn’t decide whether or not that was a good thing.

“But nooo,” Shuri continued unheeded. “’Just make me the damn arm, Shuri. I don’t need any fancy gadgets that might save my ass, Shuri,’” she said in a mocking voice that failed to sound like Barnes in any way.

Still made Natasha grin, though.

 

Both Nakia and Barnes had joined the others when Natasha caught up with them. He smiled at her, a little hesitantly, but before she could fold her own expression into something friendlier, Shuri had entered the room behind her and his smile turned into a grin. The two greeted each other like old friends and Natasha used the distraction to study him. He looked better. He looked, in fact, good. Even with the missing arm, partly hidden by a scarf draped over his shoulder, he looked more whole than she’d seen him in years. No rings under his eyes, an easy tilt to his head as he chatted. His hair had grown long enough to be tied up and she wondered why he didn’t cut it. If it was an act of defiance now that he was free to decide for himself.

Steve interrupted her silent reverie. “Nakia was telling us about the Hydra base that has popped up in Australia. Lots of equipment and people going in but doesn’t look like they are running operations yet. They might still be setting up.”

Natasha shot Nakia a curious look and got a smile in return, friendly enough but not very open. One spy to another. “Sergeant Barnes here identified a few specialists from the Winter Soldier program,” she said without revealing anything about the extent of her spy network.

“Do we know how far along they are?” Natasha asked.

“We don’t,” Steve said before Nakia could. “And we’re not going to wait for it.”

“No, of course not,” Natasha agreed.

Nakia showed them the images they had of the place. Satellite and what must have come from drones. Hydra was disguising it as a fireworks factory, complete with underground storage drilled into the side of a mountain and an electrified fence, but the security seemed extreme for that. The real base was most likely located in the storage facility.

“Don’t you have all kinds of mining equipment we could use to drill our way into it?” Steve asked T’Challa, but it was Nakia who answered.

“Going in blind is a bad idea. You need to see where you’re going and none of the scans have revealed the full extent of the facility.”

“We still have that signal jammer from Stark. How about we hit the entrance with everything we’ve got and take it from there, Avengers style,” Sam said, and Natasha was pretty sure he was joking, but considering their options, it wasn’t completely out of the question.

“I could probably get in if I just knocked on the door.” Barnes’s voice was low, but it stopped everyone from talking. “Hydra still listed me as MIA last time I checked. They don’t know I’ve defected.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve said, leaning his fists on the table between them. “You’re not going in alone.”

“Okay.” Barnes shrugged. “Won’t go alone, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out what Buckys plan was and its worse than Steve suspected. OR Friends who kick Hydra ass together, stays together. Maybe.

With the planning done and the operation on the way, all they could do now was wait, and that wait felt like it stretched on forever. Since Natasha couldn’t spend her restless energy on going for a run, she had elected to do the piloting. It wasn’t as good as running, but at least she was doing something. The others were in the back of the jet going over the plans for the hundredth time. She listened in for a while over the headset, then tuned it out. Harebrained as the plan was, it would work just fine. In a few hours’ time that Hydra base would be smoking ruins and any information they had would be in her hands.

She didn’t notice Barnes leaving the conversation before she heard boots scuffing against the floor behind her. She turned her head to see him dropping into the co-pilot’s chair next to her. Natasha suspected he’d dragged his feet on purpose, to give her a heads up.

He tapped a finger against his headset, then held up four fingers, and it took her one or two embarrassing long seconds to figure out he wanted her to switch the headset to channel four so they could talk without the others listening in. She did so, looking back out of the window at the landscape below and the sky above, to focus on something that didn’t involve a pair of mismatched hands rubbing against each other like they were cold.

“Listen, I just wanted to thank you for letting Steve and me go in Berlin. At the airport.” His tone was level, despite how he had fidgeted.

Natasha hated those headsets. The way it made the speaker’s voice sound like it was coming from right next to her ear. There wasn’t even a crackle of static to remind her that he was sitting more than an arm’s length away. “T’Challa wanted to kill you. I wasn’t going to just stand by and let him try.”

“Yeah, but considering what I’ve done to you, I wouldn’t have held it against you.”

Only knowing he was watching her every move kept her still. _What he had done to her._ He had showed her that people could be motivated by more than selfish reasons. He had honed the blade the Red Room had hammered her into, made her far deadlier than any other Black Widow. Once she was sure she could meet Barnes’ gaze and not shout at him, she looked over at him incredulously.

“Steve told me about Odessa,” he said and gestured at her stomach, his eyes downcast. “And I remember enough of DC to know that I went after you with every intent of killing you. I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t make up for any of that, but I am.”

He didn’t remember. The next breath she took reached all the way down to the bottom of her lungs. She released it little by little. She should feel relieved. If he didn’t remember her, then he wouldn’t remember her leaving him behind the second she got a chance to escape, and never going back for him. But _she_ remembered and even if she didn’t, that wouldn’t change anything. She had red in her ledger, whether he knew about it or not. She swallowed it all down, flipped on the autopilot, and swiveled her chair to face him. “That wasn’t you.”

Barnes exhaled and looked down at his hands, his expression tired. He’d had this discussion before.

“No,” Natasha said before he could argue. “That wasn’t you. I know the hell you went through and that wasn’t you. You didn’t do any of that and I won’t have you apologizing for something you couldn’t control.”

He met her eyes, looking slightly surprised. Maybe because of the anger that had laced her voice. “Okay,” he said.

She turned her gaze back towards the skies. “Don’t give me that shit, Barnes. It’s okay to feel guilty. I know I do for the things I’ve done, but if you ever blame yourself for things you couldn’t control, I will make it my personal life mission to teach you otherwise.”

He didn’t respond. She could feel his eyes on her as he studied her. “I think I’ve misjudged you, Ms. Romanoff,” he said after a couple of minutes.

Her lips twitched in a half smile much against her will. “That’s okay, just don’t make a habit out of it.”

He got up, silent as ever, but paused by her chair, put his hand on her shoulder, and squeezed. Her Soldier had always been better at expressing his feeling with actions than with words. Natasha didn’t know why she had expected Bucky Barnes to be any different.

The touch of his hand still burned on her skin when they touched down a long while later.

  

Lying on the backseat meant Natasha could see little besides the inside of the car and a flicker of trees through the windows as Barnes drove down the deserted road to the Hydra base. But at least she wasn’t hiding in the trunk with Steve and Sam. She secured the zip ties around her ankles and wrists when Barnes let her know he was nearing the entrance. Tight enough to look believable, but with enough wiggle room to move if something went wrong.

Barnes’s face was impassive when he opened the door to the backseat, he slung her with ease over his shoulder and she went limp, like she was unconscious.

“You okay?” he murmured, closing the door.

“I won’t be if you get us caught.”

He huffed a laugh and strode up to the guard by the entrance with long, confident strides. “What are you waiting for? Open the door, man,” he barked before he got there.

“Winter Soldier? I mean, I thought you were dead." The speaker sounded young, impressionable. Perfect for being manipulated.

“Did I ask you your opinion,” he paused for a second, “Private Keller?”

“No, sir, you didn’t, but I—”

“Then open the goddamn door. Unless you want to talk to the higher-ups.”

“I don’t, sir. It’s just the gate guards usually radios ahead of any visitors.”

Which they probably would have if they hadn’t been tied up, gagged, and left in their little guard houses.

“I don’t have time for that. I need to have the Black Widow secured before she wakes up. But if you’d rather wait for confirmation instead of letting me complete my mission, I’ll make sure to mention that in my report.” Sarcasm dripped off his words.

The guard swallowed loudly. “Okay, sir. Right away, sir.”

Faint beeps announced a code being punched into a panel lock, then old hinges creaked, and it was music in her ears.

“Good man,” Barnes rasped, and she had to bite her lip not to laugh. “Now if you could point me in the direction of your interrogation rooms, then I might not mention this little incident in the report.”

A rustle of paper told her that the guard could do more than that, but he didn’t get to explain anything, because a quick swing of Barnes’ free arm reduced him to a crumpled heap on the floor.

Barnes placed her carefully next to the guard and took the knife in her boot, cutting the zip tie around her wrists before he handed it to her, handle first. Natasha cut the ankle restraints and sheathed the knife while he gagged and hogtied the guard. By the time he let Steve and Sam out of the trunk, she had already picked up the map from the ground. They crawled out with all the elegance of someone who had been crammed into a small place for almost twenty minutes.

Sam launched Redwing to scan the area while they were underground, turned to Steve, and said, in a whisper loud enough to carry, “The next time we decide to go with one of _his_ plans, give me a heads up, so I can turn myself into the authorities instead.”

“Sam,” said Steve placatingly, but Sam had already turned away to join Natasha and Barnes studying the map.

After a few moments of studying, Steve said, “Okay, you all know what to do. Nat, let us know if you need backup.”

  

“Good grief.”

Natasha glanced up from the computer screen to find Barnes looking from the Hydra agents on the floor to her with a grin on his face. She raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“We should try and rustle up some of the old Super Soldier Serum for you. You'd be unstoppable then.” He looked at her the way her Soldier used to, and it stung.

She should just tell him. She owed him that much.

“Had to pick up the slack since you three couldn’t keep their attention away from the server room,” said Natasha instead.

“And miss out on this? Can’t say I’m sorry.” He toed an unconscious and tied up Hydra agent who groaned. Two more next to the first, one dead, another who might not make it out alive. Despite the dark glances that would get her from Steve, there was only so much she could do without risking her own life.

“That signal jammer didn’t work as well as advertised,” Sam’s voice interrupted. “Redwing has spotted vehicles coming this way.”

Barnes looked over at her. “You okay for ammo?”

“No,” she said, pocketing the last external drive. All the data on the servers had been compressed and loaded onto pocket-sized hard drives, ready for her to extract and go over later. “But I can improvise.” The half-dead agent with the crudely bandaged bullet wound in his thigh had a Glock 26 like Natasha and bulging pockets that she would bet was filled with spare magazines. She picked his pockets and began to distribute the magazines in the pockets at the small of her back and on her thighs.

“A woman after my own heart.”

She grinned at him, viciously, with bared teeth and no joy, and he had the goddamn gall to wink at her before he led the way to the entrance, loping ahead of her on long legs.

 

 Barnes couldn't stop smiling afterwards. It was clear he was riding the high of a well-executed operation. If he had still been her Soldier, Natasha would have been itching to kiss him by now, instead she was itching to get away. It wouldn't be fair to act on the pull he had on her. Wouldn't be fair to smile and flirt and make Bucky Barnes fall for her just because the Soldier had all that time ago. Too many secrets between them for that to sit right with her.

“We should do this again another time,” he said.

“Sure, let me know if you locate any other Hydra bases.”

“No, I mean, it felt good to be working again. To be useful again.”

She turned to look at him fully. There were a few drops of blood on his cheek, a rip in his right sleeve from what was probably a narrowly dodged bullet. What you don't know might kill you, as the old Red Room saying went. “Are you sure that's a good idea?”

He faltered, the easy smile slipped away. “Well, I was till right now.” He turned and walked away.

“Barnes. Wait,” said Natasha, but he didn't.

“The explosives are all good to go,” came Steve's voice over the com. “Ready when you are.”

She cursed herself silently and went over to join Sam guarding the surviving agents, all tied up and ready to be picked up by SHIELD.

 

 Watching the explosion wasn't half as fun with lead weights tied to her insides.

 

She waited until Steve and Sam had retired for the night to go knock on Barnes’ door. He looked surprised when he opened, but motioned for her to come in when she glanced behind him.

His motel room was a mirror twin of her own. Bed against the left-hand wall instead of the right, tiny tv, dresser, and mini fridge against the right instead of the left. Even had the indeterminate spots on the brown and orange carpet like hers. Going undercover was fine and dandy but in general, Natasha preferred to do it somewhere the bed cover might get dirty from touching the carpet instead of the other way around.

“Look, I’m sorry I was such a bitch earlier,” she said without any preamble.

His lips twitched in a smile that lingered longer in the glint in his eyes than on his lips. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but that definitely wasn’t it.”

She might as well get it out, rip the bandage off in one go instead of lingering, as it were. “Do you remember anything from the Red Room?”

He looked her over, his eyes cataloging the features of her face before going to her shoulders that she had forced to go down before knocking, and to her fingers, curled up along her sides. “No, but you look like I should.”

Natasha nodded and bit her lip but didn’t get a chance to continue.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you back then,” his words came out in a rush, almost stumbling over each other. “And I don’t give a fuck if I’m not supposed to blame myself for it, because I’m still sorry and you’re just gonna have to live with that.” Barnes stared at her with a little defiance and a lot of honesty. It was a good look on him.

“It’s okay, you didn’t,” she said truthfully. He never had, not knowingly anyway. “You were a good man even back then.”

“Lady, I don’t mean to argue, but you’re wrong about me ever having been good. Do you know how many broken hearts I left behind when I shipped out of New York?”

That startled a laugh out of her, and it came out almost like a giggle. “Don’t go arguing semantics with me, Mr. Barnes. You’ll lose.”

“D’you want a beer? I need a beer.” He barely waited for her to nod before he turned to the mini fridge in the corner. He twisted the cap of hers and handed it to her before he opened his own and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The only chair in the room was by the table next to the door and sitting on it meant sitting with her back to the window. Natasha moved the chair to at least only have her side to it.

He shot her a lopsided smile and raised his bottle to her. “To paranoid fuckers everywhere.”

“And kicking Hydra ass whenever we can.” Natasha added and raised hers.

“I’ll drink to that,” he said and they both did.

The beer was watery and too sour to her taste, but it was cold and it gave her something to do with her hands while they talked.

After a little while she asked, “Did Steve ever tell you about Wanda?”

“She’s the one with the” —Barnes waved his fingers in a surprisingly good imitation of Wanda— “powers, right?”

“Yeah, she has this trick where she… It’s hard to explain. It’s not like she accesses the memories. It’s more like she pushes me in the right direction, and I make my own way through them.” Natasha looked up at the ceiling. There had been a water leak in the corner of the room, near the toilet. Brown stains on off-white plaster left behind as evidence. Looking at them was easier. They didn’t stare back with incomprehension. “It’s already in my head, it’s just that some of it was walled off, pasted over with new fake ones. She makes it obvious which are real and which are fabricated. She might be able to help you, too.”

He sat his beer down on the floor with a hard thud and they both checked to see if it had cracked before he wiped his hands over his thighs. “I’m not doing that. I’m not letting anyone mess around in my head. Not again.”

She put her own bottle on the table to keep it from slipping through her fingers. “I just thought— I’m sorry I brought it up.” She bit her lip.

Barnes looked down at his hands, rubbing the grooves along the insides of the fingers of his left hand with his right. “I’m not—” his face twisted up as he cut himself off.

She should have tested the waters before bringing it up. Shouldn’t have just sprung it on him. Should have, would have, could have. “You don’t have to. No one’s forcing you to,” said Natasha and knelt in front of him, her hand on his, stilling his movements. It felt a little like relief when she cut the last hope of ever having her Soldier back. “I’ll make sure of it.” She hadn’t protected the Soldier. Maybe she could make up for that now.

He looked at her, the white of his eyes visible all around his irises, and then he slipped off the bed to kneel in front of her. Even on their knees, he towered above her. His fingers weaved into her hair, pulling her inescapably towards him. His lips on hers were achingly familiar, as was the scratch of stubble and the cool metal fingers at the nape of her neck. It would be so easy to give in.

She pulled back, her voice cracked when she said, “This isn’t—” and she got up and fled the room, so she didn’t have to look at the smear of her lipstick across his lips.

She barely stopped to pick up her bag and decided as she did so to just send Steve a text instead of doing the decent thing and tell him in person. Because she was a coward through and through and if she faced up to Steve, she might have to face up to the fact that she had fallen for Bucky Barnes long before she’d gone to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then we got to why I began this fic. I enjoyed writing Like You Hand around Mine so much that I wanted to write a fic with Bucky not remembering. Just to explore how he would deal with that situation.
> 
> ~~Sorry about ending this chapter with a cliff hanger, though.~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky has a lot to think about and smokes a lot of cigarettes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn't supposed to happen. This fic was supposed to be from Nat's POV. But when I started questioning what Bucky would do next, my wonderful beta [mbuzz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mbuzz) suggested writing a coda to the last chapter. Well. Once I gave him a voice, he just wouldn't shut up. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Bucky couldn’t find any rest. Not with Natasha’s words playing in his head and the touch of her lips like a ghost on his. He regretted kissing her when it had only sent her running. He wasn’t sure about a lot of things these days, but he had been sure she felt the same pull as he did when she touched him. It had felt right, natural, and he was so sure she’d wanted it too, but now he was left with more questions than answers and not sure how to phrase any of them.

He missed Wakanda. He had been at peace there or as close to it as he was going to get. Mostly thanks to Shuri, because of whatever she’d done to his head while he was under. Then with the way she’d managed to sneak up on him and become his friend while he wasn’t looking. Now he was back to not sleeping in ramshackle motels. Only difference was that he wasn’t on his own and on a different continent. Much good that did him.

He tossed the covers aside, pulled on his jeans and a hoodie, and went outside to smoke. Sleep wasn’t going to find him anyway.

The air was barely cooler outside than in, but it was still a relief. He lit a cigarette and did his best not to check if the light still was on in Natasha’s room on the far end of the row. It was past two in the morning, so it would have to wait. Steve’s room next to his was dark but talking with him was out of the question. It was too private, and Bucky could barely make sense of it all to himself, let alone explain it to Steve who looked distressed whenever his past with Hydra came up.

What could Steve do, anyway? Look at him with puppy dog eyes and tell him how much that sucked? Or even worse, go demand that Natasha tell Bucky everything and stop being so evasive. Yeah, that would definitely help. He would talk with her himself in the morning.

At least he’d had some of his curiosity sated. He remembered enough of his fights with the Black Widow that a small, selfish part of him to wanted to see that vicious efficiency wielded against someone else. He hadn’t come up against a lot of opponents who could stand their ground against him for long and none of them had been as small as her. What he hadn’t bargained for was the way her eyes would see right through him. Or how that small body of hers could house such fury, yet be soft and pliable under his hands.

He took a deep drag of the cigarette and forced his thoughts in a different direction.

The way Natasha acted around him made a lot of sense now. He’d thought she was afraid to trigger something in him and he didn’t blame her for that. He had gone back under the ice to stop it from happening. Maybe he should consider her suggestion about—

A car drove past the motel with the horn blaring, drunk laughter spilling out after it, and Bucky shook himself, brushed the crumpled remains of his cigarette off his fingers and lit another.

It wasn’t an option. He could barely even think about it without feeling sick. The only option he had left was trusting someone who didn’t trust him in return.

His scornful laughter scared a fox going through the trash. It stared at him with suspicious eyes for a while, then went back to freeing a slice of pizza from the heap.

“Fuck it,” he said and walked past Steve and Wilson’s rooms, stopping in front of Natasha’s door. It was dark inside, the curtains pulled shut. He raised a hand to knock on the door, but hesitated. The sun wasn’t up yet, the sky hadn’t even begun to lighten with pre-dawn. He put his hand flat on her door, its peeling paint scratching his palm, shook his head, and went back to stand outside his own.

He’d ask her once she was up and about. No point in dragging her out of bed just because he couldn’t sleep. Bucky lit another cigarette. It was going to be a long night.

 

“You’re up early,” Steve sounded happy and Bucky didn’t want to ruin it by admitting he had spend the entire night outside, smoking.

At least he’d had the sense to clean up the discarded butts before he’d gone to pick up a new packet at the gas station almost two miles down the road. “You want breakfast? I’m buying.”

“No, you’re not, but breakfast sounds great. I’ll wake up Sam.”

“Nah, fuck him,” he said, but waited anyway.

No signs of life from Natasha’s room yet, but since Steve hadn’t said anything, he figured that maybe she liked sleeping in. Or maybe she had texted Steve about the disastrous kiss. Because they were all just twelve-year-old school girls and if he didn’t get something to eat pretty soon he’d end up kicking Wilson’s ass for real when he made another smartass remark in Bucky’s general direction.

 

The only restaurant that was open before noon in the sorry excuse for a town that filled the space between the gas station and the motel was a McDonald’s. Because there was no God, or if there was, he was laughing his ass off at Bucky.

 

There wasn’t a lot of room left when the three of them crammed into the vinyl-covered booth. But who needed space when they could have a table covered with McMuffins, hash browns, and hot cakes, because hurrah for international cuisine?

“So,” said Steve, stirring his coffee. “Turns out that Tony, ah Stark” –he glanced at Bucky, looking concerned but Bucky kept his features calm— “is in Singapore and Nat went to see him. To get help sorting through the data we got from the base. She’ll be back as soon as possible, but we’re kinda stuck here till then, since she took the jet.”

“Um,” said Wilson.

Then Steve said, very carefully, “Bucky…”

Bucky put down the sorry remains of the plastic fork he had been using to shovel pancakes into his mouth. Then he gathered the white plastic that littered the table in a small heap next to his half-eaten pancakes.

“I’m sorry. I know you and him—”

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “It’s okay, just caught me by surprise.” Happy to let Steve believe that Stark was the problem. Natasha had dumped that giant heap of unknown in his lap and then she had just upped and left. What was left of his patience evaporated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we find out how Natasha's meeting with Tony went. Also: Nutella pizza! What won't they think of next.

“The nerve of you turning up here like this,” Tony said and grinned. He looked better than the last time she’d seen him. The black eye and arm sling were both long gone, and he looked less haunted, or at least less hurt by her switching sides.

“Yeah, yeah, save it for someone who cares,” said Natasha and hugged him. “Tell Pepper I said hi.”

He led her through the foyer to an open kitchen, talking as they went. “She misses you, you know. She was sad she didn’t get to talk to you before you went off grid.” It was probably true, but it was also neutral territory, not unlike the hotel, fewer potential pitfalls.

She took the cup of coffee he offered, it smelled delicious and tasted even better. But it failed to distract her from how close Tony come to admitting he missed her, Steve, and probably even Sam, too. “I’ll make it up to her. Once the dust has settled.”

Tony shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the hardwood floor, frowning at it like it was the internationally hunted criminal, not her. “Maybe you should talk with Ross. You’ve always had your way with words. I could set up a meeting.” He didn’t look like he believed it would happen, but she took it like the olive branch it was.

“Another time, maybe,” she said softly and put the cup down. “When I’m done saving the world.”

He glanced at her,shook his head, and said, “Alright, Widow. What do you need? I know you haven’t come all this way just to say hi.”

There was the Tony Stark Natasha knew and loved. Well, maybe loved was a bit strong. Thought fondly off. She grinned. “I need to borrow your AI. Got a lot of information I need to sort through and not a lot of time to do it.”

 

It took them longer to set up the parameters of the search than it took FRIDAY to search through it all. The result, however, left her with a lot to think about.

 

“That mean anything to you?” Tony nodded at the name highlighted in a bunch of the documents.

It had been years since she’d picked up on any mention of Kirill Kozlov. She had hoped he had retired, but Natasha seldom got what she wished for. “It does. Unfortunately. It means” —she caught herself with barely a stumble— “I’m not done yet. Still got some spring cleaning to do.”

“If the Secret Avengers need backup, I think I have tomorrow free.” He said it casually, while closing windows with search results, like he wasn’t fishing for information.

“There were several news stories about you being in Singapore for a business deal. I don’t think Iron Man operating without permission in Europe will fly under the radar,” she said, not answering his question but declining the offer all the same.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am but thank you. This would have taken a lot longer going through on my own.” She gathered the hard drives and packed them away.

“That’s all? Here I was thinking you wanted me to build a new left arm.” Said casually, yet again, like it didn’t mean anything to him, like he was only teasing her.

Natasha slung the bag over her shoulder and turned to face him fully. “Listen, Tony, there is no Secret Avengers. And even if there were, Bucky wouldn’t be part of it.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Most of the ops they had carried out had been on a smaller scale than anything the Avengers had been involved in. Not just because they needed to stay out of public attention, but because there was an actual active Avengers team. It just didn’t include her, Sam, and Steve any more.

And secrets didn’t stay secret if you told everybody about them.

He grasped his left wrist, rubbing it with a gesture that seemed more instinctive than intentional. “No, of course you don’t. I just thought.” He shrugged.“What with Cap and all.” This wasn’t him digging for information. This was something else. Guilt possibly.

“Sorry,” she said and meant it.

“Yeah,” Tony said, waving her apology off. He wandered off to pick up his own coffee cup and refilled it.

“Kind of you to offer, though,” said Natasha when he didn’t continue.

“Did he tell you he remembered them?” he said suddenly. He didn’t drink his coffee, just swirled it around in the cup. Eyes on it instead of her.

“Who?” She had a sneaking suspicion, didn’t really want it answered.

“Bucky. He remembered my parents and his other victims. Said he remembered them all.”

He had lied to her. Her Soldier had looked her right in the eye and lied to her.

 

Focusing on the conversation became difficult after that and Natasha was relieved when FRIDAY interrupted them, politely reminding Tony he had to leave for a meeting with some big tech company.

 

“Tell Cap I’m sorry about how it ended,” Tony said, pausing by the door. “And about…” He rubbed his fingers over his left elbow.

“If I see him. Sure,” she replied, meeting his gaze without wavering.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Yes, Romanoff, in the unlikely event that you see Cap on your nomadic journey around the world. Sam, too, for that matter. And…” He didn’t finish. Shook his head instead.

“Okay, I will.” Her smile was faint, but it was honest.

 

“You eaten yet?” Sam greeted her when she returned to the motel. He was carrying a stack of family sized pizzas in one hand and a white plastic bag in the other.

“Just rations on the way back. You need a hand with that?”

“Nah, I’m fine.” He maneuvered the bag and knocked on Steve’s door.

When Steve opened, she followed Sam and was greeted warmly by him, too. Once she stepped inside, it became apparent that Steve had called the entire gang there after she had messaged him about her arrival. Barnes sat in the chair furthest from the door, bouncing his leg up and down. Two chairs next to him, which meant he and Sam must have brought theirs while hers was still locked in her room. It offered a welcome excuse.

“I’ll go get my chair,” Natasha said, eager to leave even for a short while. It wasn’t a surprise that he was there, he was a part of the team, but seeing him with his hair messily tied up only emphasized how much he had changed. It had been easier to deal with when she had thought her Soldier was gone, but now his presence was a slap in her face.

“I’ll go,” Steve said, his hand already on the door.

“I have the key, Rogers.” She brushed past him, a little more brusquely than she meant to.

Barnes waited for her when she stepped back out of her room. A lit cigarette in his hand. She hadn’t even sensed anyone standing there. It didn’t improve her temper. She ignored him, shifted her grip on the chair, and locked the door.

“We need to talk.” His tone was prickly, and she looked at him. Was he mad at her? Really? When he was the one who had lied straight to her face?

“Yeah, we do, but now isn’t the time.”

He caught her by the elbow when she walked past, long fingers wrapping around her arm with barely any pressure, and Natasha swiveled, jerking her arm out of his hold. He looked surprised, then said, “When is?”

She wanted to say never, but she wasn’t that petty. He could keep his secrets, as long as he didn’t expect her to believe a word that came out of his mouth. “How about when we’ve stopped Kozlov from setting up a third or fourth Winter Soldier program?”

He frowned but she didn’t wait for his answer, turning away and stalking over to Steve’s room without another word.

Sam and Steve had opened two of the pizza boxes and placed drinks on the remaining few inches of tablespace. One box had been placed aside from the others on the dresser. She eyed it.

“That’s for dessert,” Sam said, offering her a soda. “It has Nutella on it.”

Well. There were worse inventions.

Natasha was full after only two family-sized slices and waited patiently as the others kept stuffing their faces. Sam, too, had to give in a lot sooner than the two Super Soldiers. When they were all done, she summarized what she had found out and they began discussing strategies. Kozlov’s seaside villa in Greece wasn’t anything like the Hydra base in Australia, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be just as difficult to enter. Even drawing on Sharon’s contacts to cover it up, they would have to be creative.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Natasha changes her looks, Bucky might finally get some answers, and Sam is too old for this shit.

The safehouse was a few minutes’ drive outside Tripoli, a few hours’ to Kozlov’s villa. Large enough for each of them to each have their own rooms while they stayed there. Not large enough to stop Bucky from growing restless as they waited. It was too white, all sleek lines and minimalism. He was sure he’d leave a mark if he stared too hard at anything. It didn’t help that it was Natasha’s safehouse.

Unable to stay still, he paced. Going up the few steps to the offset level with the bedrooms, and further up to the rooftop terrace. The view was breathtaking but also very open, making him feel exposed, and he descended again. Steve was on the phone with Sharon in the kitchen and Bucky didn’t want to disturb him by making another cup of coffee. Didn’t want to go sulk in his bedroom. The dining room was empty, but it was also a white box with a beach wood table, designer chairs, and little else. Wilson occupied the living room, lounging on the giant off-white couch while reading something on his phone, and that ruled it out until Bucky spotted the tablet on the coffee table.

That would at least give him something constructive to do.

He ignored Wilson and picked up the tablet on his way to the other end of the couch. The cushions were soft enough to swallow him, and Bucky perched on the edge instead, crouched over the tablet, studying satellite images of the area around Kozlov’s villa.

He hadn’t discovered anything new by the time he heard the front door open and close. A few seconds later Natasha entered. Her hair was cut short, maybe an inch past her jawline, and dyed blonde.

“Wow, you look—” Wilson said.

“Different,” Bucky finished. He wondered why the change in color bothered him.

Her gaze could have cut glass. “That’s the point.”

“Great. I was going to say great,” Wilson continued.

“Thank you, Sam,” said Natasha, smiling sweetly.

Bucky was pretty sure she did it on purpose. He ignored them and went back to studying the images.

“Nat, hey.” Steve joined the conversation, coming in with his phone in his hand. “Sharon’s still ironing a couple of issues out, but we should hear from her in a few hours.”

Bucky needed a cigarette. Or maybe just a pair of earmuffs so he could block out their voices. He grinned to himself, mirthlessly, glad his expression wasn’t visible while he was crouched over the tablet.

“Great. So, we’re good to go once we hear from her?”

“We are,” said Steve and Bucky didn’t have to look up to know what expression was on his face. He did anyway. Slowly to not attract their attention. Steve was twirling the phone and Natasha obviously knew how to read Steve’s fidgeting as well as Bucky, her eyebrow already arched before he even spoke. “It’s not too late to change plans. We could find a less direct way to get access to his files. Or even leave it to Sharon,” said the man who had thrown himself at problems since he learned how to walk. And probably even before that.

“This isn’t my first time going in somewhere unknown on my own. I can get back out.” She said it with far more patience than Bucky would have expected.

“I know you can, but I’d prefer you didn’t have to.”

Her expression was as soft as Steve’s, but Bucky could see the steel underneath and he interrupted before she could answer. “How about you don’t go alone because it’s suicidal?”

The softness slipped away as she shifted her focus to him. “Glass houses, Barnes.” The annoyance turned her words crisp and cold like new snow.

He had a feeling she wasn’t just referring to the Hydra base in Australia and that didn’t improve his mood one bit. The lack of knowledge ached like a missing tooth. “I had the three of you with me at the base. I wasn’t alone.”

“And you will all be close by, listening in. If I get into something I can’t handle, you’ll know and be close enough to intervene.” Natasha turned away from him, ending the discussion, and said to Steve, “I’m going to prepare for the op. Let me know when you hear from Sharon.”

Bucky wasn’t going to let her run off this time. He discarded the tablet on the couch and followed her to the master bedroom. She was about to close the door when he put his hand on it, stopping her.

“What do you want, Barnes?” Tired exasperation had replaced the annoyance.

He wanted her to answer his questions for once. He wanted her not to get hurt. What he said was, “What if Kozlov has live-in security? What if he has an automated security system that takes you out at his command?”

Natasha rubbed her fingers over the bridge of her nose, up to her forehead, closing her eyes as she did. “I don’t have the energy for this. You know I’ve survived much worse. Some old man isn’t going to be the end of me.” She turned away from him, dumping her bag on the bed, shrugging out of her jacket.

Bucky followed, pushing the door close behind him to keep Steve from hearing the anger laced in his voice. “No, I don’t know. Because you won’t fucking tell me.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed, dusty black clothes against the sky-blue bedcover. “You’re doing this to punish me, aren’t you?”

“What are you—” He stumbled over his own words. He had been geared up to counter her arguments, push back when she refused. “What do you mean punish? For what?” This had to be about the Red Room.

“The secret’s out. Tony told me what you said to him in Siberia.” She looked almost apologetic.

He should have figured that it would come back to bit him in the ass. Should count his blessings that Stark had told Natasha and not Steve.  “Oh,” was all he managed to get out.

“And if you want to punish me for leaving you behind when I ran, I won’t stop you. But pretending you don’t remember won’t make it go away.” She smiled a bitter smile.

“I never lied to you, at least not—” He cut himself off, swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. “At least not that I remember.”

For a split second, her face twisted up in something like disgust or maybe pain, he couldn’t tell. “So, after Tony watched a video with you killing his parents, you decided to tell him you remembered doing it?” Deliberately calm and collected.

“Yeah, I did.” Bucky met her stare evenly.

“Might as well have handed him your gun, you suicidal…” She released a shaking breath. Her eyes looked glassy.

His mouth was as dry as the Sahara Desert, but he still managed to say, “Glass houses, Romanoff.”

Natasha exhaled sharply, a smile like a crack in a window split her pale face, then she dropped her head, her hair closing over her face like a lace curtain, and for a panicky moment, he thought she might be crying then he heard the laughter that accompanied the shaking shoulders.

His breath of relief came out as a snort and she looked up at him, her eyes still shiny but there was a light in them there hadn’t been there before.

“You’re an idiot, Bucky Barnes,” she said with a smile that made his own lips twitch in return.

“I’ve been told that before.” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, almost dislodging the hairband.

She stood and moved closer to him. Even in those ridiculous wedged sandals she still barely came up to his nose and he had to look down to meet her eyes. She was tiny, deceptively soft looking, and she didn’t pause before she poked his chest with a hard finger. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll tell Steve, and you’ll just have to live with it. Or you know, not.”

Bucky couldn’t stop looking at her wry grin. Plump and red lips twisted in a wicked smile that did things to him he really shouldn’t be thinking about right now. Her tongue darted out to wet them, making it impossible for him to think at all. He tore his eyes away and sought for something witty to say, only coming up with, “I won’t.”

There was a look in Natasha’s eyes he couldn’t read, and it only made him want to grab her and kiss her until she stopped narrowing her eyes at him. His hand twitched in anticipation and his thumb grazed her forearm.

She looked down at it then back up. Her green eyes somehow bigger now they were surrounded by pale locks. But she didn’t back off.

His heart beat like a jackhammer against his chest. If he— but that was what he’d thought the last time and look where that had gotten him.

A phone rang downstairs, loud and obnoxious.

Natasha blinked and looked down. He caught a whiff of her hair, something floral and chemical probably from the dye, before she turned away, walking over to the bed again.

Bucky reached for her but faltered. Stood motionless as she unclipped the holster at the small of her back, turning the Glock over in her hands.

“I’m not trying to keep secrets from you. I just— My hang-ups are my own, none of that is on you. You need to know that. You don’t owe me anything.” Her mouth twisted up like she had bit into something sour. “And I’m doing it again.” She turned her head to look at him, the Glock and holster still in hand. “You trained me. But you didn’t just teach me how to be a better agent, you— We became lovers and they found out and they punished us for it. Assets weren’t allowed to—to feel. Anything. Especially not for each other. So, they took what made you ‘you’ away. And made me watch.” Her expression vulnerable, open.

“Thank you.” He tried to swallow, but there was no spit left in his mouth.

Someone knocked on a door down the hall.

“I’ll be happy to tell you everything if you want me to.” She bit her lip. “Everything I know.”

“Bucky?” said Steve, loudly to be heard through the wall. Steve who thought Bucky had gone to his own room, not Natasha’s.

“Gimme a minute, Steve. We’ll be down in a bit.” His voice sounded tinny. He hoped the walls masked it. “Thank you,” he repeated in a lower tone. “That’s all I wanted.”

“Yeah, I get that _now_.” She placed the gun and holster in a drawer of the bedside table. “I guess I should spring for a Starbucks card for you. Refill it every time I’ve been a bitch.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, Natasha.” Her name felt foreign in his mouth. He should use it more often. Romanoff was too impersonal.

Something flashed across her face, too fast for Bucky to read it. “Don’t think this means you’re off the hook for attempting suicide by Tony. Or proxy. Or whatever.”

“Okay. I can live with that.”

She picked up her bag and opened it. “You should go find out what Steve wanted.”

Bucky dipped his head. He could pick up on a dismissal even when it was served with a pretty smile. “He probably wants both of us. That was Sharon’s ringtone.”

The smile was honest this time. “I don’t know what bothers me the most about that. That he uses personalized ringtones or that I hadn’t picked up on it.”

He opened the door and held it for Natasha, who shot him an amused side-eye. “Don’t feel bad. You didn’t share a paper-thin wall with him at the motel.”

“I’m supposed to be _spy_. Do you know how many crappy motels I’ve stayed in the last year and not picked up on that?”

Nothing could ruin his mood after that. Not Wilson’s smug grin when Bucky followed her into the living room. Not the stupid coffee mugs without a handle. And not even going along on a mission that sidelined him while Natasha was out there risking her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky lying to Tony about remembering his victims when he didn't comes from Sebastian Stan himself. Because, wow, that scene wasn't painful enough as it was.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky contiues to smoke like a chimney, Nat talks, and we get to that Explicit rating.

Natasha woke up with her heart in her throat and a gun in her hand. Pale moonlight filtered in through the white shutters covering the windows on her right, painted white bars of cold light on the ceiling above; cicadas sang in in the distance. Right, the safehouse. The smell of dust and antiseptic still stinging in her nose was just a remnant of her dream, not proof that she was back in the place she only visited in her dreams these days. It was to be expected, coming back from an op had always left her on high alert. Even when it had been completed without incidents.

A soft rapping on the door interrupted her thoughts. Almost too low to hear. She went to answer it and wasn’t the least bit surprised when Barnes stood outside. Bare feet on the tiled floor and wearing the same jeans and tee he’d worn yesterday. Four hours ago.

Maybe she wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

“We need stop meeting like this,” she said, leaning against the open door to hide the gun.

“Um,” he said.

She winced. “I was screaming, wasn’t I?”

“No. Not exactly.” He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “But you sounded like you were in pain.”

“Sorry. Bad dreams.” Natasha didn’t have the energy to conjure up anything more than a weak smile. Didn’t want to.

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know those. Had kinda hoped they would go away when I’d been out for long enough. But I guess not.”

She wanted to invite him inside. To lie and assure him that they became less frequent and easier to handle. To have him sit on her bed and talk in that low drawl of his that seemed to become more pronounced when he was around Steve. Wanted the room to smell like cigarettes when he left. She was selfish, but she wasn’t that selfish. She said, “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t. I wasn’t sleeping.” He paused, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You want a change of scenery? I could go for a smoke.” He dug out a squashed packet of cigarettes from his back pocket. Holding it out to her like his passport on his way through customs.

She didn’t have to force the smile this time. “Yeah, I’ll get dressed,” Natasha said, closed the door, put the gun away, and pulled on a pair of leggings under the oversized tee she had slept in.

Barnes was waiting a few steps down the hallway when she came out, his back to her like he would have been able to see through the wall otherwise, not turning until she closed the door behind her. They moved down the corridor like a couple of shadows. It was curious watching him walk without a sound in the silent house. He didn’t look like he was trying to move silently, he just did, by default. Maybe she did owe Clint an apology, after all. It wasn’t the same when she was watching someone else do it. Especially when they did it apparently without thinking.

When they reached the kitchen, Natasha decided to indulge herself a little, said, “Hang on,” and stepped inside.

He raised an eyebrow when she emerged with half bottle of red wine and two long-stemmed glasses in her hand. “You really know how to woo a guy.”

“Shut up, Barnes.”

“Shutting up, ma’am.”

It was marginally cooler outside; the tiles still warm from the sun. There was a bench along the south wall, half-concealed by the overhang and the stairway leading to the rooftop terrace. Shielded from the sun, wind, and inquisitive neighbors, but with a view that stretched as far as the eye could see. They sat there for a while, drinking the wine, watching the stars above. The cicadas’ song the only sound for miles.

It was nice. Relaxing. And not at all what he had invited her out here for.

A swig of red wine let her to speak without rasping. “I heard stories about you when I was a recruit, training to become a Black Widow. About the Soldier I mean, not Bucky Barnes. Didn’t know that part, not till after.” Natasha faltered. Kept her eyes on the cluster of stars just to the left of the big tree in the bottom of the garden when Barnes shifted to look at her. “It was ridiculous. Ghost stories rather than real rumors. Most of us were in our twenties, all of us had proved our worth to even enter the program, but we ate it all up. The Winter Soldier was unstoppable. The Winter Soldier never failed a mission. We could only ever hope to achieve greatness such as his. Yours.” She shook her head at the absurdity of it. “It sounded like propaganda, and maybe it was. It wasn’t till you started training me that I understood they had been right and completely wrong at the same time.”

The wine sloshed in her glass when she gestured with it. Clung to the sides of it before the surface tension broke and the wine settled back at the bottom. “This was after I graduated and that was a mercy I didn’t recognize at the time. Meant I was skilled enough to not be laid out flat the second we began sparring. You were infuriatingly good. Faster than me, strong enough to break me in two if you wanted to. I don’t think I’ve ever fought as hard as that first time we sparred. It took me twenty minutes to even land a blow, you had blocked or sidestepped the others. And it was a good hit. Should have dropped you, or at least slowed you down.” Natasha turned her head to meet his silent gaze. “You know what you did?”

He shook his head.

“You grinned. Told me to keep it up. The other instructors might praise us when we achieved a goal or met some requirement to perfection, it wasn’t unheard of, but you seemed genuinely impressed. Glad I had impressed you.”

The Winter Soldier had seen her for what she really was, had seen her drive to be the best at whatever she put her mind to, and had loved her for it. Something ugly twisted in her gut, reminding her that he would have been better off without her. Bucky Barnes wouldn’t have had holes the size of dump trucks in his memory without her.

“You don’t have to do this now.” His voice was rough like he had just woken up from a long night’s sleep, but none of it showed on his face. “I didn’t ask you out here for this.” He always had been able to see right through her.

“Why did you?” Natasha said instead of exposing her throat to him, presenting him with a knife to slash it with.

He looked away, down at his hands. An inch of ash on his cigarette, or what was left of it. He tapped his thumb against it to dislodge the ash and pinched the embers out with his left. Then his shoulders dropped, and he looked back at her, his expression open, relaxed, said, “I didn’t want to be alone.”

Words stuck in her throat like daggers. “Barnes,” she began. Didn’t know how to continue.

Something she couldn’t read flitted across his face before his features settled into something that looked like amusement, though she had no idea why he would find any of this amusing. “You could just call me Bucky, you know.”

She said the only thing that came to mind. “No, I couldn’t.”

He looked crestfallen. Like a puppy dog who just got his meal snatched away form under his nose. It allowed her to breathe again.

“It’s a ridiculous name. I’m not using it,” said Natasha, derision dripping from her words now that she had them back under control.

He laughed with his head resting against the wall behind them, crow’s feet crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you, it’s my name.”

She shrugged. “My name used to be Natalia but going by Natasha is better than letting you Americans butcher it.”

“Natalia,” he said, his Russian pronunciation perfect. He studied her as if he had never seen her before, and she couldn’t move. He nodded and said, “You look like a Natalia.”

A mouthful of red wine did little to distract her. “Yeah, well, you’d need to do something with your hair to look like a James.”

Mock offense replaced the soft smile that cut her heart in ribbons. “What? You don’t like it?” He reached behind it to pull the hairband out, dropped his head and shook it to let it flow free in front of his face. “It is getting a bit long.” He pulled on a lock of it, measuring the length with the span of his fingers.

The line of his wide shoulders was relaxed, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Natasha couldn’t remember ever having seen him this comfortable. At least not outside rooms that had been locked, checked, and double checked before he let his guard down. She could reach out to him now, run her fingers through his hair and he wouldn’t stop her. Judging from the way he looked at her when he thought she didn’t see it, he’d welcome it. Wrap his arms around her and kiss her breathless.

In another universe. One where she hadn’t run away and left him in the hands of monsters.

James turned his head and looked at her, an easy smile on his lip. “You think you could set me up with a hairdresser? One who wouldn’t try to dye my hair.”

Her voice was calmer than she felt when she opened her mouth. “You got that I left you, right? After they wiped you, put you in an ice box to thaw out whenever they needed you, I ran away. Didn’t look back. Didn’t try to go back for you. Not even after Odessa. I could have asked Fury for resources to help track you down. Free you. But I just. Didn’t.” Natasha swallowed. Didn’t matter that Hydra would have sabotaged that search. She hadn’t wanted to share her dirty little secret, her bleeding heart, so she never asked.

The smile had slipped off his face at the end of her first sentence, his expression turned somber as her words hit home. James shifted on the bench, sitting sideways, put his arm on the back rest, metal fingers inches from touching her. “If I’m not allowed to feel bad about putting bullets in you, then you sure as shit aren’t allowed to feel bad about getting out with your mind in one piece.”

This was bullshit. Why couldn’t he just get angry with her? Yell at her. Act like it meant something.

“Natalia.” His voice was gentle, but it gutted her like a fish.

Natasha did the only thing she could do. She slid along the bench, closed the chasm between them, and nestled in the crook between his arm on the backrest and his torso, her legs drawn up on the bench next to her. He was incredibly warm, always had been, and she put her hand on his chest to soak up more of it. The cotton tee was soft under her fingers, his chest firm. It rose and fell under her touch. She didn’t shiver, but that was only because she willed herself not to.

James held still at first, then wrapped his arm around her shoulders, metal fingers brushing against her arm, slowly as if afraid she would startle. The soft press of his lips to her hair, then, “I’ve thought about touching you more times than I can count.”

She pulled her head back, rested it on his shoulder, and looked up at him. “What comes next then, now that I’m here?” Her mouth was dry, but at least she could speak again.

His gaze flickered over her mouth, then back to her eyes. He parted his lips to speak but nothing came out.

She felt hollowed out, breathless, longing for something that was right at her fingertips. “Take it. It’s yours.”

It was a soft kiss, almost chaste. His lips brushed hers, dry and chapped. Natasha reached out, cradled his jaw with her hand, pulling him closer. His stubble bent under her hand, so long it seemed soft. He took the hint, opening his mouth, deepening the kiss. He tasted of cigarettes and the tangy trace of wine, but his touch was familiar. It had been a long while since she’d kissed anyone, longer still since she’d kissed him and she drew it out, luxuriating in the simple pleasure of it.

After a while, the angle grew uncomfortable, and she shifted, her fingers slipping from his jaw to the back of his neck to not break the kiss. His only reaction a huff of laughter into her mouth before he pulled her onto his lap. He always had been eager for her touch. Almost as eager as her for his. She clutched a fistful of his tee to remind herself that he wasn’t a figment of her imagination, that this was real. James’ thighs were firm under her, his hands sliding up her back, over her neck.

She braced for the inevitable tug and tangle of her hair when his left hand reached it first. But it never came. Metal fingers ran through her hair as easily as flesh and bones ones, all thanks to clever Shuri and his new arm. Laughter bubbled up in her chest. Now there was something she had never thought she’d want to thank the genius princess for.

James broke the kiss, looking up at her with a mixture of confusion and amusement. “What?”

“Nothing. Everything. This.” Natasha bent to kiss him again, then took his left hand in hers. Kissed the palm of it, turned it over and kissed each knuckle in turn. “I like your new arm.”

His eyes were bottomless pits, drawing her in. She leaned forward to kiss him again, a hand on either shoulder, his hair like cool silk on top of them. Deep and messy and nowhere near as smooth as she had planned. Oh, the things she could do with him, the things he might want to do now that she had stopped behaving like such an idiot.

Part of her wanted to have him right there on the bench where they might be discovered. _Because_ they might be discovered. But no part of her wanted to look Steve or Sam in the eyes after either had walked in on the two of them together. She pulled back, motioned her head towards the door, and said, “C’mon.”

They made it to the master bedroom without tripping each other up and that was more luck than anything else. She damn near tripped going up the stairs when James’ hand found its way up under her shirt, calloused skin brushing against her before he hooked his thumb at the waistband of her leggings, like he couldn’t wait to tear them off her. She swallowed an undignified sound and returned the favor when they finally closed the bedroom door behind them by pushing him up against it, dragging his face down to hers.

Natasha was met with a rude grin that split his face in two when she finally let him up for air and said, “Impatient boy,” like she didn’t need his touch the same way she needed air in her lungs.

He hummed, a little tunelessly, a little shakily, and bent to feather kisses along the side of her neck, then cupped her ass and lifted her off the floor as if she weighed roughly as much as a week-old kitten. She felt about as steady.

He crawled onto the bed before he placed her on it. Followed up by removing his own shirt before he made her shift to remove hers. It came off easily, roomy and soft, one of her favorites for sleeping in. When she looked back at him, his lips had parted, and he was looking at her like a kid who had gotten everything he had wanted for Christmas. She sought for something pithy to say but came up blank, opted instead to reach up for him to draw him down into another kiss.

But he didn’t stand for it.

Batting her hand way, James moved closer, draped her legs over his thighs as he crouched above her. Slid his hands from her knees, over her thighs, hips and sides, stopping only when he reached her ribs just under her breasts, murmuring, “Christ, you’re beautiful.”

Even wearing leggings, Natasha had never felt more naked in her life. She couldn’t begin to explain why this wasn’t a bad thing when it was with him.

He bent his head and licked her nipple, slowly, full of reverence, and her nails damn near went through the quilted silk bedspread when she grabbed it to keep from crying out.

His new hand was smoother than his old, not as cold, but that might just be from being somewhere warmer than the chilly Red Room facility. She didn’t care either way, didn’t matter as long as he was with her.

Metal and flesh fingers pausing halfway down her hips brought her back to the moment. James had pulled her leggings down far enough to expose the ugly scar on her abdomen. His hand shook a little when he traced the outline of it. Natasha put her own hand on top of his, shook her head to say _don’t_. Don’t worry about it. Don’t apologize for something you couldn’t control. But she didn’t have to. He bent to kiss the scar, feather light, then pulled her leggings and underwear all the way off. His eyes didn’t even stray to it when he stepped off the bed to remove the remaining of his own clothes.

He had obviously spent time in the sun while in Wakanda. His legs almost as tan as his arm and face, his torso a shade lighter, and his hips lighter still. His new arm dark against it all. Entirely made up of powerful lines and the smooth shift of muscles as he moved.

He always had left her breathless.

She crawled over the bed to meet him when he knelt onto the bed, pulling him with her, onto her, but he stopped her, bracing his weight on his elbow, slipping his free arm between them, between her thighs. She had been ready for him since he had pulled her onto his lap, since she had pushed him against the door, and he groaned when he felt the slick heat for himself.

One finger slid inside her easily, two was better but still not what she wanted. Then James rocked his hand, the pad of his thumb pushing against her clit in a rolling motion and she bit her lip hard enough to hurt, strangling the moan before it got past her throat.

He bent his head to kiss her on her sore lip. “Please. I wanna hear you.”

It was almost funny, but Natasha didn’t feel like laughing. She wasn’t usually quiet during sex, was sometimes even demonstrably loud, had only ever been quiet with him. Old habits die hard, but she would give him the moon if he asked for it. “Okay.” The word nearly broke in two, her voice unsteady.

She was gasping by the time he deemed her ready, skin flushed and overly sensitive. Her fingers digging grooves into his back. Part of her hoped that Steve was a sound sleeper, that the walls isolated better than the door. Another part of her wanted to shout it from the rooftops.

Afterward, obviously. When they were both so exhausted, they could hardly move.

She grinned, wrapped her hand around his cock, and squeezed. Grinned wider when James’ breathing stuttered. Natasha nibbled on his bottom lip, stroking the length of his cock, paying him back some for what he’d done to her. A down payment for the things to come. She would continue once the immediate itch had been stilled. Super Soldier stamina was good for more than just fighting, after all.

She guided him to her entrance, wrapped her legs around him to hold him in place when he did little else but rub against her instead of pushing inside. Finally digging her heels into his back when she couldn’t wait a second longer. He flexed his hips and, oh fuck. It was a tight fit, not uncomfortably so, but it still left her breathless.

He rested his forehead against hers, his breath hot on her face, his hair a curtain around them.

“James,” she said, and he lifted his head, his eyes more black than blue. He had a name now and she would use it, every hour of every day. When they were outside among people who might hear her use it and when he was inside her. And no one would punish either of them for it.

He kissed her then. Hard and demanding, scratching her with his stubble, stealing the air from her lungs. So that when James flexed his hips, she gasped. Dug her fingers into him hard enough to leave marks. “Natalia,” he said and kissed the skin under her ear. Because of course he’d read the significance of it on her face. “Darlin’,” and another kiss an inch below the first. Kisses and inane pet names littering her skin. Setting her on fire.

When Natasha thought she couldn’t take any more, he hooked his fingers around her left knee, folded it up by her shoulder and pushed into her so hard the mattress dipped under her. Not even the fear of waking Steve or Sam could keep the wretched sound she made from escaping her throat. She was so fucking close, could tell he was too from the furrow in his brow, the harsh rasping of his breath, and she slipped a hand between them, to give herself the final push.

Again he batted her hand away. Said, “Don’t fucking. Think so.” Deep thrusts punctuating his words.

And that was all it took for her. A few rubs of his thumb and the tight coil in her abdomen released, sending her over the edge. Another snap of his hips into her and James was right there with her, shuddering, burying his face in the nape of her neck. Her nerve endings buzzed, and she shivered, letting herself melt into the mattress.

He flopped onto his back with a groan worthy of his chronological age. “Jesus,” he said and for some reason that struck her as hilarious.

“Old man,” Natasha said when she could speak again.

“Old man,” he repeated, rolling on to his side, staring at her with mock offense. “Spent is what I am.” His arm was heavy across her chest. She liked having it here.

She smiled up at him, threaded her fingers through his damp hair to get it out of his face, pushed a leg between his.

“So, you’re sticking with James, then?” An insolent smile curled the corners of his mouth.

“I could go back to Barnes, if you prefer that. Or maybe Jimmy?” Every ounce of her training went into looking and sounding perfectly innocent.

James made a disgusted sound. “There were five Jimmies on my block alone. Why’d you think I was called Bucky in the first place?”

“No, wait. Jimbo. How about Jimbo?”

He flopped onto his back again. “I don’t think you’re taking me very seriously, Natalyushka.”

Natasha bit down the laughter bubbling up from hearing that childish diminutive, straddled his lap, and said, calm as ever, “Serious as a heart attack.”

His expression sobered and he reached up to trace warm fingertips over her brow, along the shell of her ear, the line of her jaw. Brushed his thumb over her bottom lip hard enough to part her lips. “Don’t care. Call me Jimbo. Whatever you’d like. See if I care.”

The hollowed out feeling returned, the ache bone deep. She leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on his chest, and kissed him. His hands found her hips blind, one metal one flesh and bone. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t missed that peculiar sensation as much as everything else about him.

So what if James didn’t remember the first few months they spent together? He still looked at her like she was the best thing that ever happened to him. She still loved him with every fiber of her being. Memories or no memories, Natasha wasn’t about to let him go a second time.


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue - In which Wanda deserves better. I mean, really.

It didn’t all come back to him. Not in a rush or even in a trickle. In fact, the first time Bucky let Wanda do her magic trick on his head all he got out of it was a skull-splitting headache, the acute knowledge of just how many blank spots he had, and a vague sensation of something cold.

Which covered most of his time with Hydra.

But at least it had been nothing like the chair. Wanda had stopped when he had felt the least bit uncomfortable. Hadn’t started until he’d reassured her that he wanted to continue. And, as luck would have it, the second time they tried it, it worked. Something that started with the feel of the sun on his skin and the taste of something sweet on his tongue.

“Gelato,” he said out loud.

“I’m sorry?” Wanda said.

“Not,” Bucky said, the ability to form full sentences evading him. He gestured at Natalia and she came closer, slim fingers intertwining with his. “Gelato. You’d never tried gelato.”

She frowned at him, confused. “I don’t think I—”

“Tivoli. We were in Tivoli outside Rome. Some mission. And you said you had never tasted gelato.”

The frown smoothed, her shoulders settled down from the place near her ears where they’d been since the session started. “Tivoli. That was the defected scientist, right?” She smiled at him. Then she began to laugh, tension draining from her with each shake of her shoulders. “That’s the first memory you dig out of him,” she said accusingly to Wanda, laughter still bubbling beneath her words. “My culinary shortcomings. Really, Wanda.”

Wanda put her hands up in surrender. “I don’t control the flow, I just guide him to it.”

“The nerve of you.” She looked back at him, her green eyes sparkling like diamonds. “Both of you.”

“That’s not why… It was the first time we were on a mission together. The first time—” Bucky cut himself off, licked his lips. Very aware that Wanda was listing to every word he said.

“Oh. _Oh_ ,” Natalia said and thankfully didn’t share with the class it had also been the first time he had told her he loved her. The first time he’d eaten her out, marveling at how he’d made her come apart with his mouth alone. Well, the first time for a lot of things because it had been the first time they had been out from under the Red Room’s scrutiny. Away from furtive meetings in dark corners where the cameras couldn’t see them. Free to do whatever the fuck they wanted as long as the mission was successful. The smile she shot him was downright dirty. “The nerve of you,” she repeated and then it was Bucky’s turn to laugh so hard his eyes watered and he couldn’t breathe properly.

And he should probably apologize to Wanda. Buy her flowers or something. If she’d seen even a fraction of the full technicolor vision that had flashed across his inner eye, he should buy her a goddamn jet plane to make up for it.

 

That had been the first memory Wanda helped Bucky excavate. Natalia sitting in full sunshine at a roadside café outside Tivoli eating gelato like her life depended on it. It hadn’t been the last.


End file.
